Part 3 In The Shadow Chapter 9

When Yann was on deck, he looked around him with sleep-laden eyes,over the familiar circle of the sea. That night the illimitableimmensity showed itself in its most astonishingly simple aspects, inneutral tints, giving only the impression of depth. This horizon,which indicated no recognisable region of the earth, or even anygeological age, must have looked so many times the same since theorigin of time, that, gazing upon it, one saw nothing save theeternity of things that exist and cannot help existing.

　　It was not the dead of night, for a patch of light, which seemed toooze from no particular point, dimly lit up the scene. The wind sobbedas usual its aimless wail. All was gray, a fickle gray, which fadedbefore the fixed gaze. The sea, during its mysterious rest, hid itselfunder feeble tints without a name.

　　Above floated scattered clouds; they had assumed various shapes, for,without form, things cannot exist; in the darkness they had blendedtogether, so as to form one single vast veiling.

　　But in one particular spot of the sky, low down on the waters, theyseemed a dark-veined marble, the streaks clearly defined although verydistant; a tender drawing, as if traced by some dreamy hand--somechance effect, not meant to be viewed for long, and indeed hasteningto die away. Even that alone, in the midst of this broad grandeur,appeared to mean something; one might think that the sad, undefinedthought of the nothingness around was written there; and the sightinvoluntarily remained fixed upon it.

　　Yann's dazzled eyes grew accustomed to the outside darkness, and gazedmore and more steadily upon that veining in the sky; it had now takenthe shape of a kneeling figure with arms outstretched. He began tolook upon it as a human shadow rendered gigantic by the distanceitself.

　　In his mind, where his indefinite dreams and primitive beliefs stilllingered, the ominous shadow, crushed beneath the gloomy sky, slowlycoalesced with the thought of his dead brother, as if it were a lasttoken from him.

　　He was used to such strange associations of ideas, that thrive in theminds of children. But words, vague as they may be, are still tooprecise to express those feelings; one would need that uncertainlanguage that comes in dreams, of which upon awakening, one retainsmerely enigmatical, senseless fragments.

　　Looking upon the cloud, he felt a deep anguish, full of unknownmystery, that froze his very soul; he understood full well now thathis poor little brother would never more be seen; sorrow, which hadbeen some time penetrating the hard, rough rind of his heart, nowgushed in and brimmed it over. He beheld Sylvestre again with his softchildish eyes; at the thought of embracing him no more, a veil fellbetween his eyelids and his eyes, against his will; and, at first, hecould not rightly understand what it was--never having wept in all hismanhood. But the tears began to fall heavily and swiftly down hischeeks, and then sobs rent his deep chest.

　　He went on with his fishing, losing no time and speaking to no one,and his two mates, though hearing him in the deep silence, pretendednot to do so, for fear of irritating him, knowing him to be so haughtyand reserved.

　　In his opinion death was the end of it all. Out of respect he oftenjoined in the family prayers for the dead, but he believed in noafter-life of the soul. Between themselves, in their long talks, thesailors all said the same, in a blunt taken-for-granted way, as awell-known fact; but it did not stop them from believing in ghosts,having a vague fear of graveyards, and an unlimited confidence inprotecting saints and images, and above all a deep respect for theconsecrated earth around the churches.

　　So Yann himself feared to be swallowed up by the sea, as if it wouldannihilate him, and the thought of Sylvestre, so far away on the otherside of the earth, made his sorrow more dark and desperate. With hiscontempt for his fellows, he had no shame or constraint in weeping, nomore than if he were alone.

　　Around the boat the chaos grew whiter, although it was only twoo'clock, and at the same time it appeared to spread farther, hollowingin a fearful manner. With that kind of rising dawn, eyes opened wider,and the awakened mind could conceive better the immensity of distance,as the boundaries of visible space receded and widened away.

　　The pale aurora increased, seeming to come in tiny jets with slightshocks; eternal things seemed to light up by sheer transparency, as ifwhite-flamed lamps had slowly been raised up behind the shapeless grayclouds, and held there with mysterious care, for fear of disturbingthe calm, even rest of the sea. Below the horizon that colossal whitelamp was the sun, which dragged itself along without strength, beforetaking its leisurely ascent, which began in the dawn's eye above theocean.

　　On this day, the usual rosy tints were not seen; all remained pale andmournful. On board the gray ship, Yann wept alone. The tears of thefierce elder brother, together with the melancholy of this surroundingwaste, were as mourning, worn in honour of the poor, obscure, younghero, upon these seas of Iceland, where half his life had been passed.

　　When the full light of day appeared, Yann abruptly wiped his eyes withhis sleeve and ceased weeping. That grief was over now. He seemedcompletely absorbed by the work of the fishery, and by the monotonousroutine of substantial deeds, as if he never had thought of anythingelse.

　　The catching went on apace, and there were scant hands for the work.

　　Around about the fishers, in the immense depths, a transformationscene was taking place. The grand opening out of the infinitude, thatgreat wonder of the morning, had finished, and the distance seemed todiminish and close in around them. How was it that before the sea hadseemed so boundless!

　　The horizon was quite clear now, and more space seemed necessary. Thevoid filled in with flecks and streamers that floated above, somevague as mist, others with visibly jagged edges. They fell softly amidan utter silence, like snowy gauze, but fell on all sides together, sothat below them suffocation set in swiftly; it took away the breath tosee the air so thickened.

　　It was the first of the August fogs that was rising. In a few momentsthe winding-sheet became universally dense; all around the /Marie/ awhite damp lay under the light, and in it the mast faded anddisappeared.

　　"Here's the cursed fog now, for sure," grumbled the men. They had longago made the acquaintance of that compulsory companion of the secondpart of the fishing season; but it also announced its end and the timefor returning to Brittany.

　　It condensed into fine, sparkling drops in their beards, and shoneupon their weather-beaten faces. Looking athwart ship to one another,they appeared dim as ghosts; and by comparison, nearer objects wereseen more clearly under the colourless light. They took care not toinhale the air too deeply, for a feeling of chill and wet penetratedthe lungs.

　　But the fishing was going on briskly, so that they had no time left tochatter, and they only thought of their lines. Every moment big heavyfish were drawn in on deck, and slapped down with a smack like a whip-crack; there they wriggled about angrily, flapping their tails on thedeck, scattering plenty of sea-water about, and silvery scales too, inthe course of their death-struggle. The sailor who split them openwith his long knife, sometimes cut his own fingers, in his haste, sothat his warm blood mingled with the brine.